Not My Happiness, But Yours
by thisisnotmybeautifulhouse
Summary: "She's going to break him, Gwaine. She's already done it once and she's going to do it again." Merlin is good at pretending, most of the time. Falls toward the end of 4x13.


Pressing a hand to his mouth to muffle the choked off sobs which constantly threaten to become wails, Merlin gasps and tries to swallow, tries to stop feeling like he's flying apart. Strong arms hold him tighter, and he latches on to that sensation, hoping to drown himself in the silent support of his best friend, who knows better than to try to comfort him with words. They are beyond words now, because words cannot possibly hold any meaning when the most important, the most vital words have already been exchanged in the sight of all of Camelot.

"She's going to break him, Gwaine. She's already done it once and she's going to do it again." And he _knows_ that he isn't being fair, that Gwen would never intentionally hurt anyone, but right now Merlin's heart is breaking so much that he does not think it will ever be whole again.

Gwaine rocks him gently from side to side and runs strong fingers through Merlin's hair, soothing him in the way that Hunith used to when he was a small child, feeling lonely and disconnected from the rest of the world because of his gifts. He wishes briefly that his mother could be here right now, in Gwaine's place, and then he feels small and selfish and ungrateful. His friend followed him from the celebrations without even being asked, simply because he knew that today would be hard, and that he would need something to ground the little pieces of himself that keep trying to fly away. "You don't know that, my friend." Which is true, but that does nothing to allay his fears. Every time someone destroys Arthur's world, Merlin is there to pick up the pieces and put them back together. But the next time it happens, he might not be.

His mind strays to thoughts of what will happen when the night's revelry is over, and the last of the well-wishes for the happy couple have been said, and wonders distantly if this is what dying feels like. With the vice around his heart and the stone in his throat, blocking his ability to breathe, it certainly seems like this could be his final hour. He snuffles and registers a vague sort of guilt that his friend must bear witness to this, his messy end.

And then he shakes himself, because this? Is not him; he is so much stronger than this.

Over the years, he has faced every kind of loss imaginable. He endured the loss his best friend, of a potential lover, of a father, of a beloved confidante. Throughout it all he has remained true to himself, and he shall continue to do so now. Surely one more loss, of something intangible, nearly impossible, can be weathered in a similar fashion.

Determined once more, he turns in his friend's arms, puts on a brave smile, and says, "You head on back to the feast, make sure our king doesn't become too drunk to perform his husbandly duties tonight. I'll join you in a moment." And he will, because Merlin is many things, but he has never truly been a coward, in spite of certain protestations to the contrary. Because he made a promise, several years ago, one he intends to keep no matter the cost. 'Where will you be?' 'I'm going to be by your side, like I always am, protecting you.'

So, it will hurt. That is nothing new. So, he desperately wants to be somewhere, _anywhere_, but in that hall, watching his king celebrate his wedding. He knows that a great deal of his pain can be laid at his own feet. He did, after all, push the idea of Gwen and Arthur reuniting, long after Arthur had grown frustrated with the topic. But he did it out of love for his friend, and the desire to ensure that at least one of them is not forced to go through life alone. He is no stranger to setting aside his own happiness for the sake of Arthur's, or even for the potential of it. Everything he is and does is for his friend, and this is no exception.

He can do this, because he must. And so he steels himself against Gwaine's searching gaze, remains strong as the other man nods and softly squeezes his shoulders and then releases him altogether, heading back to the hall. He allows himself another moment, because he _needs_ it, and then he carefully wipes his face and says a quiet spell to remove all traces of his sorrow, and he, too, makes his way back to the feast.

As he walks back in, he feels eyes find his slight form, and he knows that they belong to his king, who after all their time together, instinctively knows whenever his friend enters a room. He looks up and answers the silent demand of, 'Are you alright?' with, 'I'm fine,' because even though he is not now, he will be, and this day is meant to be happy, so he will pretend, for now. He has become quite good at pretending, when the need presents itself, and this is no different, really, than all the other times. He is still taking care of Arthur, which is all he has ever wanted to do, and so someday, perhaps, he will not have to pretend.

For now, he will endure.


End file.
